A Working Stiffs Christmas
by Uncle Charlie
Summary: It's not what you do, but who you do it with that makes the day special.


I'm a maintenance guy. That's what I do, I maintain things. If it's broken, I fix it or replace it or get really creative and decide how to work around it. It may not be the most glamorous job at UNCLE, but it's a necessary one. And if you don't think so, watch how fast life comes to a stop when you have a stopped up toilet. My job may not be pretty, but it's vital.

I grew up in Spanish Harlem here in New York. Nothing really to write home about, standard upbringing, standard education, standard amount of run-ins with the law. It was one of those little episodes that actually brought me to UNCLE. My folks were frustrated and pretty much at their wits' end with me when they saw an ad or someone told them about it or however the hell it happened. One minute I was a JD and the next, I was in an intern project with this bizarre little company called Uncle Imports International. It didn't seem like much at the time, but it was my life preserver out of a life of crime and poverty.

While I was working there, I met this girl, exotic and as different from me as night was from day. It was love at first sight for us and it was only when I met her folks that I found out she wasn't Spanish, she was Russian. None of our parents were really happy with the match, but the hell with them. We showed them all – thirty years in a few months. We knew what we had and we were both smart enough to recognize it. You might be wondering why I'm telling you about Kat. You'll understand in a minute.

So it's Christmas Eve around UNCLE HQ and there was merriment and good will towards men pouring out of people until you need wading boots to get through the corridors. I had the next couple of days off, so I was working like a bandit, trying to get the last of the doors replaced. We have these automatic doors and one of the sensors went bad on a pair of them. And then another and another until it was pretty much throughout the whole building. We'd been working for two weeks now trying to get them all repaired and I was down to the last few.

So I was in the Section Four break room. That's our Intelligence and communications department. They are the ones who have their fingers on the pulse of the world. If there's anything to be known, they're the first to know it. So, I was sitting on the top of my ladder and working away. Two young ladies were at one of the tables, jabbering away like chickens.

"Are you going to the Section Six's party when you get off?"

"I wouldn't miss it for the world. I hear they brought a truck load of mistletoe in. I'm planning on logging some major time underneath it with Napoleon." They giggled at that.

"You don't think his partner will be there, do you?" Her voice was just off enough that I had to risk a look towards them. They have their heads together and were ignoring me completely.

"The Russian? Not likely. He's an atheist, you know."

"So's half of Section Five and they'll all be there!"

"Who'd want him there? Stuck up little prick. He thinks he's so much better than the rest of us."

Now I almost said something right then and there, but I kept my mouth shut. First off, Kuryakin was a Section Two agent and those fellas **are** something else. They should be treated with respect as far as I'm concerned. And I liked Kuryakin. He wasn't in the facility but a week and he knew all the maintenance workers' names and what we did. He'd always been polite and respectful to me and treated me like an equal.

"Haven't you got those doors done yet?" Hudson, a department head wannabe, came strutting in and glared at me, like that would make me work faster.

_Obviously not, cague cabeza, _I thought, but I remained silent. Nothing I could say to that man would make a difference.I just concentrated on my work and let him be.

"Mr. Hudson, you don't think the Russian will be at the party tonight, do you?"

"Kuryakin? Naw, he's too good for us and he's probably gonna use the time to get in touch with his old friends in the East. You know, catch them up on all he's been doing here, slide a few secrets their way. That's what he's here for. You know that they say, better dead than red."

Now he's accusing a Section Two of being a security leak? Granted, I dropped out of school in the ninth grade, but even I have more brains than that. I gathered up my tools and happily took my leave of them still bad mouthing Kuryakin like he's the greatest thing UNCLE has to fear. So much for good will towards men – or maybe that was good will towards people they deemed worthy of it.

Glancing down at the list, I sort of smiled. Guess whose office door is next in line for repair? Yup, the leader of the evil empire himself and the poor unfortunate who had to share with him. That would be Kuryakin his partner, Solo.

The door sort of choked and gasped its way open at my approach and Kuryakin glanced up at me through his thick black rimmed glasses. Man, those things were ugly, but I had a feeling he didn't wear them to make a fashion statement. He always struck me as a fellow who made due with whatever was at hand.

"¿_Hector, cómo es usted? ¿Y Kat, ella es bien_?" It's odd to hear him speak Spanish, but he handles languages just like he handles everything else - well.

"_Muy bien, gracias. ¿Y usted?"_

He started to answer just as the phone rang and he held up a finger as he picked it up. Immediately, his face softened and he smiled as he spoke, "_Mama! Я тосковал без Вас. Вы хорошо? И Папа и каждый?" _ I translated as he talked. 'Mama! I've missed you. Are you well? And Papa and everyone?' See, Kuryakin didn't know I spoke Russian, just like not many folks knew my Kat spoke Spanish. We liked it that way – it was like our little secret from the world.

So I sat on my ladder, worked on his door and listened to him talk about New York, his partner, and respond to the news from home. His brother's new daughter, his sister's engagement to a man not worthy of her, his father's fading health. I didn't catch every word, but enough to know he missed them and his life back there.

I thought about the hateful words of Hudson and those secretaries. They couldn't for a moment even begin to realize what Kuryakin had sacrificed simply by agreeing to come to New York, much less joining UNCLE. Let's be real, most agents don't get the chance to retire from Section Two, they die first and he was willing to give his life for an ideal not even shared by many of his government officials.

"_Я не могу прийти домой, я сожалею. Я буду осторожен. Я люблю Вас также, Мамa._" He sighed. 'I can't come home, I'm sorry. I'll be careful. I love you too, Mama.' He hung up the phone and for a minute, he looked like a scared little boy, deeply homesick and longing to be back among his own. I wanted to wrap my arms around him like I used to with little Jorge when he skinned a knee. But I also remembered Kuryakin wiping the gym floor with five other guys, all bigger than him and all without breaking into a sweat. Then, in a flash, the little boy was gone and the agent was back in place, controlled and resolute.

There was a noise at the base of my ladder and his partner, Solo, walked in, still hobbling along with his cane. He'd taken a header over the office cat a few weeks ago and just when he was on the mend, he zigged when he should have zagged and made it worse. Now he was stuck on desk duty until well after the first of the year and not happy about the prospect. Agents thrive on action

Solo was a distinguished Korean war vet, not the sort of guy to want to hang around the enemy, but he was a bigger man than that and these two had hit it off from the start, despite there being lots of initial skepticism at first..

"Hey, Illya, what are you doing here?" He raised a hand to me. "Hey, Hector, _Feliz Navidad_!" I grinned back, but kept on with my work. I really did want to get these doors finished by quitting time tonight.

"I am working, Napoleon. Correct me if I'm wrong, but this** is** a work day."

"It's more than that, Illya! It's Christmas Eve, partner of mine! Peace on Earth and all that." He settled on the corner of Kuryakin's desk and crossed his arms. "There is a party going on in Section Six that will make your hair stand on ends."

"As attractive a thought as that might be, I suspect my presence would be more appreciated elsewhere. I am not particularly popular with Section Six or Four… or Seven."

"Well, yes, but Section Eight loves you and Section Two thinks you're swell." Solo punched him gently in the shoulder. "They just don't know you and toknow you is to love you." He laughed at Kuryakin's snort. "Tell you what, let's go and get a drink and then we'll blow this place. I'll show you what Christmas in New York is all about."

"I suspected there are several beauties who would rather you spend your time with them."

"Nonsense, who better to spend a special night with than someone special? And you, my friend, are as special as it gets around here."

That takes Kuryakin by surprise, you could tell, and he dipped his head a little, like he's suddenly shy and he grins.

"All right, my friend, but first, this." He handed Napoleon an envelope. "For you."

"I thought we agreed no gifts." He pulled something from his jacket pocket and handed it over, grinning like a maniac. Solo opened the envelope and stopped, staring. "How did you…? These tickets have been sold out for months. How could you even begin to afford…?"

"The director is a friend of mine. I knew him from England. When you mentioned you wanted to see the show, I looked him up." Kuryakin grinned happily. "He was very obliging with very little encouragement." He looked down at what he held. "Airline tickets? Aeroflot?"

"Go home for New Year's, Illya. I know you didn't have time to see anyone when you were there last and I'm going to be sidelined for another month with my leg. There's no reason both of us should be stuck behind a desk and miserable. Take the time and see your family. The world got along fine without us for years, it can hold up for a couple of weeks."

"But Mr. Waverly…"

"Has already approved it. Give your mother a kiss for me and tell her I miss her pickled carrots." Solo was beaming like a lighthouse now. "So come on, let's go down to Section Six and show them how it's done. For what it's worth, if you drink Hudson under the table, he won't be able to show his face for a week."

They had totally forgotten I was even in the room and that was okay because what I witnessed made me realize that there are good men in the world and two of them were in this very room. And as long as there were men like them, the world would be fine. And as long as there was understanding and trust, we would have peace and goodwill, if only for a night. At least, it's a start.


End file.
